


While You Were Sleeping

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [14]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Connor, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Consensual Somnophilia, Dom/sub, Dream Incubus Hank Anderson, Dream Sex, Hard Dom Hank Anderson, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Rimming, Somnophilia, Top Hank Anderson, don't look at me, i said what i said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: “I don’t think so, love. Fair is fair. If I can’t have you, no one can. Not even you.” He punctuates his sentence with a sharp nip at the junction of Connor’s neck and shoulder. It makes him melt without fail and Connor doesn’t disappoint. He practically pools into Anderson’s lap.“That’s cheating,” Connor whines as Anderson’s fingertips ghost along the edges of Connor’s swelling erection beneath his pants.“You’re the only one stopping us, sweetheart. I could take you right here, right now. Finger you and suck you until you come.” Connor’s body grows tauter the more Anderson speaks, closing his eyes against the onslaught of mental images.“I could tongue you open until you’re trembling and sloppy. I’d fuck you face-first into the cushions to quiet your screams, wrap my fingers around your cute little cock until you’re begging to come again.” Connor’s resolve teeters precariously and he twitches violently atcuteandcock.__Connor is on a campaign of abstinence before the wedding until that proves too difficult for both he and Anderson. Ever the problem solver, he figures it won't count if he's sleeping >:)This is part of a D/s series. Pay attention to the tags.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Brat Tamer [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472171
Comments: 12
Kudos: 203





	While You Were Sleeping

Anderson arrives home late to find Connor sitting cross-legged on the wrong side of the coffee table. He’s worrying a pencil between his teeth while another rests behind his ear. It too bears the marks of his fretting.

When Anderson moves to hang his coat, Connor addresses him without looking at him, “How would you feel about eloping?”

Anderson snorts at the question. Connor asks it about once every three days as wedding plans move more assuredly to the event itself. Anderson crosses the room to sink to his knees behind Connor, bracketing his trim waist between Anderson’s thick thighs.

He nips at Connor’s neck a bit harsher than normal and earns a startled gasp for his efforts. He kisses it better before speaking, “You say that, but I’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t get your white wedding.”

Connor mumbles something that sounds a great deal like _dramatic oaf_ in a snotty tone. Anderson digs his fingers into Connor’s sides until he squirms, trying to free himself.

“Hank! Ha-Hank, stop that!” Grinning, Anderson redoubles his efforts until Connor’s shrieking laughter bounces off every surface in the room. In the end, Anderson has Connor on his back, arms outstretched and pinned with one hand while the other torments every funny bone Connor possesses up his ribcage.

“Sir, I’m s-ahh-sorry! Please!” Connor gasps out the request amid fits of laughter and Anderson finally relents, collapsing to his elbows.

Dipping his head, he kisses the tip of Connor’s nose, “There he is.” He murmurs it fondly and Connor’s face infuses with a soft pink. It makes him look wine drunk. _He’s lovely_ , Anderson thinks to himself.

Anderson brushes his thumb over the contours of Connor’s cheek, “What has you grumpy this time?”

Connor harrumphs, but he leans almost imperceptibly into Anderson’s touch, “The seating chart is a nightmare. I don’t know how to keep mother away from our colleagues or what to do with the walking ashtray my brother is bringing as his plus one. Niles will be at the table with the wedding party, but I don’t want to dump his date on anyone.”

“Sit him with Jeff,” Anderson offers. “They both have experience on the force. It’ll give them something to talk about.”

Connor’s nose scrunches up until it’s in danger of fusing to his eyebrows, “Dean Fowler is my boss. My very new boss who didn’t have to hire me at all. Gavin is…What if he says something awful? Or, I don’t know, breathes his smelly breath on the Dean’s suit?”

Anderson has to resist the urge to laugh. He knows Connor isn’t being hysterical to amuse him and likely wouldn’t appreciate being the butt of a joke. Instead, he presses his thumb to the deep furrow in Connor’s brow, “Uh, oh. This is back again. I might have to do something about that.”

His fingers stroke down Connor’s side in warning and Connor spasms, “No, thank you. It was completely unnecessary the first time.” His attempt to assert his authority is only slightly marred by being wholly beneath Anderson’s much larger frame.

“I don’t know about that,” Anderson begins, his voice pitched low and deep like a purr. He strokes one long forefinger down Connor’s pale cheek, tracing freckles as he goes.

Connor scowls up at him, “Hank Anderson, you are incorrigible.”

Anderson gives him a lazy smile, “What can I say? I love to make you laugh.” It’s all the warning he gets before Anderson is on him again, wriggling his fingers into armpits and between ribs until Connor is gasping for mercy.

By the time he relents, Connor is winded and his hair is badly mussed. Anderson ruffles it until it stands out in all directions. Heat pulses, low and intrigued; Connor looks a great deal like he does after Anderson wrecks him and rebuilds him in the privacy of their bedroom. He sets it aside for later in favor of dealing with Connor’s latest wedding woe.

“Sit Reed with Jeff. It will be fine.” Connor nods in answer and Anderson peels himself off his fiancé until he’s sitting back on his heels. Reaching out a hand, he continues, “And while we’re on the subject, Jeff didn’t hire you out of pity or to do me any favors. You’re a damn fine engineer and that weasel shot Cyberlife in the foot by letting you go.”

Connor pretends to busy himself with straightening up his seating chart, but Anderson can see the smile he’s trying to conceal behind a tremble on his lip.

The neck of Connor’s shirt hangs loosely, revealing a delicately freckled shoulder as he scribbles away on his chart. Anderson plants small kisses along them, inching his fingers beneath the hem.

“Hank,” Connor doesn’t snap at him, but he does sound annoyed, “We agreed.”

Anderson’s mouth flattens into an irritated slash, “No, _you_ made a completely arbitrary decision.”

Connor twists at the waist, enveloping Anderson’s face between his palms, “I want our wedding night to be special.”

Anderson exhales hot frustration against Connor’s neck, pressing his forehead into Connor’s clavicle. They’ve had the conversation a few dozen times, but hope blooms eternal in the minds of the helplessly horny, “How exactly will it be made more special by abstaining until then?”

Connor presses a chaste kiss to the back of Anderson’s head before viciously erasing Reed’s name from the chart and writing it in an obscure corner without any tables, “Please, Hank. It’s not like I’m asking you to wear a cock cage.”

Anderson can hear the smarmy undercurrent to Connor’s words and he had a half a mind to strap Connor into the chastity cage languishing in their closet. He lets the vengeful thought go in favor of honing in on a suspicion, “So I take it that you aren’t masturbating then?”

Connor’s spine uncurls into a rigid pole as Anderson smirks behind him. _Got you,_ he thinks to himself, victorious. Connor may be putting a temporary hold on their sex life, but Anderson has a great deal more experience with delayed gratification. He has no doubt that Connor has been taking care of his arousal on his own time.

“That’s different,” Anderson’s grin deepens at the pout lacing Connor’s words; he’s already lost and he knows it.

“I don’t think so, love. Fair is fair. If I can’t have you, no one can. Not even you.” He punctuates his sentence with a sharp nip at the junction of Connor’s neck and shoulder. It makes him melt without fail and Connor doesn’t disappoint. He practically pools into Anderson’s lap.

“That’s cheating,” Connor whines as Anderson’s fingertips ghost along the edges of Connor’s swelling erection beneath his pants.

“You’re the only one stopping us, sweetheart. I could take you right here, right now. Finger you and suck you until you come.” Connor’s body grows tauter the more Anderson speaks, closing his eyes against the onslaught of mental images.

“I could tongue you open until you’re trembling and sloppy. I’d fuck you face-first into the cushions to quiet your screams, wrap my fingers around your cute little cock until you’re begging to come again.” Connor’s resolve teeters precariously and he twitches violently at _cute_ and _cock_. Anderson makes a mental note of his reaction and stores it away for a rainy day. 

Palming at the obvious tent of Connor’s pants, Anderson growls against Connor’s ear, “You sob so pretty for me, baby doll. Let me make you feel good.”

His touch is feather soft as he runs his fingers over the bulge between Connor’s thighs. He’s certain Connor is on the verge of ending his absurd chastity strike when his pocket begins ringing. Fumbling it, it takes Connor three tries to answer.

“Hello, mother.” Anderson deflates at the greeting. He knows the likelihood of Connor still being in a pliable mood after talking to Amanda is slim to none.

With a sigh and a peck to Connor’s cheek, he wanders into the kitchen hoping that making dinner will bore away his persistent erection. Anderson isn’t an unreasonable man. He’s well aware that his libido isn’t what it was in his twenties, but he isn’t dead either. After three weeks of Connor’s urging for self-restraint, he’s reaching his limit. Unfairly edged and unwilling to be reasonable, Anderson may or may not accidentally on purpose burn Connor’s rice.

Connor has enough common sense not to comment on it. He’s also smart enough to know that Anderson needs physical touch as much as he does. Standing at the sink, rigidly washing dishes by hand, he unclenches a fraction when Connor’s arms sneak around his waist.

“It’s just two more weeks,” he murmurs into Anderson’s back and the big man relaxes a few degrees more.

“I’m being ridiculous,” he admits to the kitchen sink. Connor smiles into the soft material of his shirt.

“Maybe a little,” Connor squeezes him around the middle, ignoring a throaty warning sound.

Connor won’t say it, but he’s enjoying watching Anderson get a taste of what he puts Connor through on the regular. Thinking back on it, Connor can’t think of a single time he’s ever denied Anderson or made him wait like this.

His resolve wavers dangerously the first time he’s alone in the shower. It’s been several days since he last jerked off and Anderson had been making things difficult on purpose. He was handsy and uncharacteristically affectionate—kissing at Connor’s neck, brushing pet names against Connor’s temple with his lips, thumbing at his hipbones, pressing him against walls for lengthy kisses. He knew what Anderson was up to. He was pushing Connor’s buttons and checking all his boxes.

By the third day of it, Connor’s fit to burst. A vague sensation of guilt washes over him when he realizes Anderson’s been struggling through this for weeks and Connor’s about to crack after a handful of days.

Even his dreams taunt him. Memories and fantasies merge in his mind and Anderson teases him, touches him, caresses his entire body until every nerve ending burns with the throbbing need for release. Anderson shines impossibly bright over him and Connor’s chest heaves with unanswered longing.

He knows the moment Anderson touches him he will come undone. He begs without shame and Anderson smiles down at him. It’s sinister and promises destruction, “You’re going to scream for me, Connor.”

He sobs out a yes and the sky behind Anderson explodes in crimson waves of desire. Anderson looms over him, their chests just shy of touching. He rests on his elbows and Connor wonders if he’s floating over him like a giant incubus sent to torment him with lust.

Anderson’s face dips even lower until his words dance out of his mouth and tickle at Connor’s ear, “Spread your legs, boy.”

Connor’s legs all but fly apart in his eagerness to obey. The promise of relief is so close and Anderson’s hands burn against his skin as he manhandles him. Thick fingers wrap around his ankles, yanking Connor down while folding him in half. His calves rest against Anderson’s broad shoulders and he swears he can feel the heat of his thick cock hovering within millimeters of his hole. He needs to be filled _now_.

Anderson smirks as Connor tries to rut down onto him, “Ask me nicely.”

“ _Please_ ,” it comes out wrecked and twisted with desire, “Sir, _please!_ ”

He can see the feral finality wash over Anderson’s face. His skin glows impossibly brighter until Connor has to shut his eyes against it.

He’s dangerously close to snapping as the light becomes painfully bright, “ _Hank!_ ”

He wails it, willing him to end his agony when Anderson murmurs softly, “Connor?”

His eyes snap open and the morning sunlight smacks him straight in the face, “Goddammit!” He knows he’s whining, but he’d been so _close_. He hadn’t had a wet dream in years, but his need for release was overwhelming. Besides, it didn’t count as jerking off if he was asleep, right?

Anderson chuckles as if reading his thoughts, “Good dream?” His palm rests on Connor’s raging erection and he buckles. Rolling hard, he bucks into Anderson’s hand like a wild animal during mating season.

“Easy,” Anderson murmurs, pulling him into his arms. Connor whimpers at the delicious slide of Anderson’s hips against his own. An idea, sweet and warm like honey left out in the sun, drips into his ear.

“Hank.” Connor’s voice is tight and Anderson peers down the broad ridge of his nose at him. His eyebrows rise incredulously as Connor lays out the details of what he’s after.

“You want me to fuck you,” Anderson says bluntly, “while you’re sleeping? Don’t you think that would wake you up?”

Connor shimmies down, pushing Anderson to his back as he goes. He nuzzles his face into the meat of Anderson’s chest and his words come out hot on Anderson’s skin, “It doesn’t have to be sex necessarily if you don’t think you can handle it.”

Something rumbles under Connor’s cheek and he realizes Anderson just honest to goodness growled at him. He’d momentarily forgotten Anderson had been abstaining a great deal longer than he had and probably hadn’t taken kindly to the jab at his capabilities in bed. Still, it does the job.

“Careful what you wish for,” Anderson snarls before hauling Connor up to face level and stealing the breath from his lungs. Anderson never lost control, not completely, but Connor liked him best like this. All feral and rough, delivering kisses that seared and made Connor ache all over with _want_.

Anderson pulls away with a steadying breath, holding Connor’s jaw, “What about your reign of terror against all things sex?”

Connor flushes and mumbles, “Doesn’t count if I’m not awake.” A rich bubble of laughter rises up from Anderson’s stomach like carbonation. Connor’s fairly certain he calls him a brat at some point, but he’s hidden himself under his pillow to cover his embarrassed face.

Anderson peels it back to stare down at him, “Are you sure?” Connor sees something resembling concern on Anderson’s features and he realizes what his hesitation is. Consent.

He turns into the hand on his jaw, pressing a kiss to Anderson’s palm before answering, “Yes; I trust you.”

His body feels like it’s on fire for the rest of the day. He tries to focus on wedding planning, but his dick has taken complete and total control of his brain. Anderson laughs at him the third time he catches Connor staring into space, vaguely moving names around on his seating chart.

“You have three Gavin’s on here now, you know,” Anderson points to various corners of the chart and Connor scowls before attacking it with an eraser.

Anderson’s hand comes to rest on his, “Maybe you should take a break.” He knows it’s not a suggestion and frustration-borne irritation licks up his spine. He wants to snap something nasty at Anderson but forces the impulse down with a slow exhale and heavy blink. He drops the eraser and flops face-first onto the couch. He groans into the cushion when Anderson drapes over him.

“Let’s go to bed,” Connor mumbles into the couch.

“It’s 5:30, Connor,” Anderson laughs lightly. “You haven’t even had dinner yet.”

The hours trickle by and Connor drifts listlessly from one thing to another. A trail of debris follows him—a crossword left half-finished on the coffee table, an origami crane crumpled up on one side—until Anderson snags him by the hand and hustles him into the shower.

He’s tense bordering on shattering. He sags when soapy fingers press into his shoulders, “You need to relax. You’re never going to fall asleep like this.”

Connor knows he’s right. Anderson always seemed to be right about everything and the thought chafes at him especially hard in that moment. Minute by minute, Anderson works tension out of Connor’s neck and back until he’s having difficulty standing. He leans back into him and Anderson runs a large palm down his chest.

He feels Anderson’s arousal pressing into his backside and he knows his own is straining just as hard. He hopes sleep comes for him soon because he’s going to crack otherwise. A small, insignificant part of him declares it’s cheating and breaking his abstinence. The much more important majority of his brain tells that voice to shut it.

When Connor all but leaps into their bed, Anderson smirks at him from the doorway. He leans against it, naked and confident in his stance, “No pajamas?”

Connor scowls at him and tells him where he can shove his pajamas before rolling to his side. He yelps when Anderson rips off the blankets, pinning Connor to the mattress with his own damp body, stretching his arms high. Wide, startled brown eyes look up at stormy blues ones.

“You’ve been giving an awful lot of sass for somebody who wants me to fuck him.” His voice is low, measured and Connor’s heart slams in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he exhales into the slight space between them. “I’m just fr—”

“Frustrated?” Anderson interrupts icily and Connor realizes for the first time how hard he’s been pressing his luck. “You’re dangerously close to outright disrespect. This situation is entirely your own making. Don’t make me discipline you for it.”

Connor sucks in a sharp breath. It had been easy to get carried away. A small part of him knows he’s been something of a terror. The combination of wedding stress and knowing Anderson was abiding by his request for abstinence had filled him with a false confidence that he was untouchable.

Something in Anderson’s gaze softens as he looks down at Connor’s stricken face, “I know you’re stressed.” His fingers flex around Connor’s wrists in a warning not to interrupt and Connor’s lips snap shut, “In the morning, you’re going to find a wedding coordinator to handle these details. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

Connor tries to look away, embarrassment and shame wriggling in his guts. For the life of him, he will never understand how he always finds himself in this same trap of trying to be perfect.

“Look at me,” Anderson’s voice is hard and Connor obeys faster than blinking. He’s surprised to see a faint smile on his face, “You need to unwind. You need _sleep_.” Connor flushes at the emphasis Anderson puts on the word. He doesn’t particularly feel like he deserves his attention anymore.

Anderson’s thumb brushes along his jaw, “I’ll take care of you, Connor. I always do.”

He relaxes into him, crushing Connor into the mattress. His weight is comforting and Connor wraps his arms around his neck when Anderson releases him. Shuffling apart, Anderson slips into bed beside him before turning off the light.

Connor isn’t sure if Anderson intended to wait for him to fall asleep or wait until morning. He wasn’t certain if Anderson was going to touch him at all after shooting off at the mouth. Still, tantalizing images dance through his mind as he waits for sleep to creep over him. Memories of Anderson’s hands taunt him, positioning him roughly, fingering him open, or teasing the flushed tip of his cock. His arousal is approaching painful again and he doubts he’ll be able to fall asleep like this.

“Look at me,” Anderson’s voice cracks with more force than thunder and Connor rolls to find out what’s wrong. He sounds livid and—

“Holy shit,” the words come out of his chest like a wheeze. Anderson’s standing at the top of a set of stairs. His skin is bronzed as if he’s spent days in the sun. His eyes glow an ethereal blue, but his nakedness commands the majority of Connor’s attention.

Anderson’s cock was impressive, Connor knew, but the curve of it looked different somehow. It stood rigid and proud, looking thicker and meaner than Connor remembered. He wants to lick it. A moan trickles across his lips and Anderson sneers down at him.

“You think you deserve this cock?” He gestures at himself and Connor’s eyes cast down, feeling contrite.

“I told you to _look at me,_ boy” Anderson’s voice is quiet but Connor flinches as if he shouted.

He pulls his gaze back up to meet his fiancé’s eyes, “I’m sorry.” He tries to imbue sincerity into his voice.

Anderson arches one unimpressed brow, motioning at the stairs, “Prove it. Earn it. _Crawl_.”

A hot lick of molten desire flares up Connor’s dick and it swells into embarrassing arousal. Anderson smiles sharply, all teeth, at the sight. He knows Connor wants him and badly. Still, it’s not like him to push Connor this hard. Connor got off on small doses of humiliation swathed in several layers of security and trust, but this was extreme for Anderson. He’s halfway up the stairs when he notices it doesn’t hurt his knees.

 _This is a dream_.

His eyes snap up and Anderson _winks_.

***

Connor shivers in their bed and Anderson knows he must be dreaming. Connor’s lips mumble half words and he moans occasionally. Anderson always wakes up a good hour before Connor and today was no different. It’s still dark outside and he has an hour before the sun will rise high enough to rouse Connor from sleep.

He shimmies closer to him under the blankets, wanting to keep him warm. They’ve never attempted something like this, but he knows from experience that Connor’s a heavy sleeper. It was damn near impossible to wake him before six in the morning. He’s not too worried about him stirring just yet. Still, this is new territory for the both of him.

Ghosting a hand over Connor’s waist, he smiles when Connor quivers. It deepens into a pleased grin when he finds Connor’s length in the dark. He must be having one hell of a dream to be this hard. He’s rewarded with a whimpered _Sir_ at the first glide of his hand. Connor was always expressive and Anderson delighted in every sound he could pull from his chest.

Reaching for a bottle of lube, Anderson freezes when Connor abruptly rolls and humps lewdly against his hip. He whispers an impassioned _please_ before going limp again. Carefully, he inches away before resuming his gentle stroking. Connor moans in his sleep in a way he never has when awake. It’s unfettered and unashamed. It’s perfect.

His eyes adjust to the dark and he can see Connor’s features more clearly in the moonlight. His brows furrow at random like he’s experiencing unbearable pain, but then he rolls his hips into Anderson’s grip with a delicious whimper. Whatever Connor’s dreaming about, it’s got him on edge.

Gently, slowly, he rolls Connor back to his side. His legs curl up and Anderson grins at the easy access. When he sinks a finger in, Connor’s back arches and he lets out a breathy wail.

“There you are,” Anderson says quietly, not able to help himself. “Let go, sweetheart.” Connor shivers as if he heard him and Anderson falls quiet, but his finger continues to move. Connor twitches when he adds a second and sobs out a nonsense word when Anderson presses against his prostate with a gentleness bordering on cruel.

It would be easy to get carried away like this. Anderson knew Connor was sensitive and he’d love to watch him unravel without shame. Connor could come untouched, but a degree of embarrassment always went along with it. He wants to know what Connor sounds like when he’s unrestrained by his hang-ups, but he lets the thought go. That wasn’t the agreement and Connor’s trusting him with this in his most vulnerable state.

When he presses his cockhead against Connor’s hole, he hesitates. Connor may be a heavy sleeper, but he has significant doubts that this won’t wake him. They hang there in limbo as the seconds tick by until Connor whines _sir_ then a moment later _please_.

His voice is so needy, so sweet, Anderson can’t deny him. He sinks in slowly with much more restraint than he would if Connor was awake. More than once he freezes when Connor’s sleepy murmurings start to sound more awake than not. He shushes him and Connor relaxes. It’s slow and taxing but so very tight after weeks of nothing. Anderson presses a kiss to Connor’s shoulder, trying to will himself not to tear into Connor in an undersexed frenzy.

“Fuck me,” Connor’s voice is thin and high with need. His hands paw at the air as if trying to grab onto something and Anderson snatches at one of them. Connor’s fingers lace through his but his grip is limp with sleep. He sighs out a sound that’s half begging, half demanding and Anderson begins to move.

***

Anderson’s hands slam his own to the ground and Connor’s back arches in an attempt to gain friction. Anderson’s dark, sensual chuckle shoots straight to Connor’s dick and it dribbles weakly against his stomach.

“ _Please!_ ”

Connor’s never begged for cock more in his life. Anderson had finally let him have a taste, pistoning between Connor’s lips until they were plump with exertion. He’d pulled him off by the hair and a glistening strand of saliva had hung in the air between his tongue and the tip of Anderson’s magnificent, flushed cock.

“Look at you,” Anderson had purred. “So hungry for it.”

Connor still isn’t sure how it happened. One minute he’d been on his knees gagging on cock, the next his hands are braced on the ground with all his blood rushing to his head. Anderson’s knees are on either side of his ribs and the front of his thighs rest on Anderson’s shoulders as if he’s halfway into a bizarre handstand. It isn’t until Anderson’s arms hoist him up by the waist that he realizes what’s happening.

A tongue, impossibly long, lashes over his hole.

“Oh, Jesus fuck,” Connor stammers and he humps lewdly, nearly losing his balance. Anderson chuckles and repeats the motion until Connor’s arms shake. He nearly collapses when Anderson’s tongue probes in, hot and thick. He wails an overwrought sound when Anderson’s hand finds his length, stroking him lightly.

His chest burns with aching arousal. He needs Anderson to fuck him _now_ or he’s going to splinter into a thousand pieces. As if reading his mind, Anderson maneuvers him with devastating strength. One hand pins him to the ground, holding him lightly by the neck. He isn’t choking him, but Connor doesn’t dare move.

“Be a good boy, and hold still,” Anderson’s smile is a wicked thing and Connor groans when he sinks two fingers into Connor’s tongue-fucked hole. It takes every ounce of control Connor has not to buck or writhe as Anderson batters at his prostate. It lasts for what feels like an eternity.

“Beg for it, Connor,” Anderson’s eyes bore into his own and Connor’s hands reach out to him. Anderson releases his hold on his neck in favor of pinning Connor’s arms to the ground.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” he nudges Connor’s legs wider and Connor exhales a wanton moan. He would do anything Anderson wanted so long as he fucked him with his thick, heavy cock.

The tip of Anderson’s dick presses against him and the touch is like fire. He tries to buck down, but Anderson’s grip keeps him in place.

“Ask me nicely, Connor. Ask me to ruin you.” He nudges his cockhead against Connor just shy of sinking in and molten desire races across every inch of Connor’s skin.

“Sir, _please_ ,” Anderson’s eyes blaze with barely restrained lust and Connor wills him to let go. “Fuck me.”

Anderson’s hands slide up from his wrists to tangle with Connor’s fingers as he finally, finally sinks to the hilt in one thrust. The scream that rips from Connor’s chest is otherworldly and he wouldn’t be surprised if the sky fell from the force of it. Anderson gathers his legs, shouldering them and pushing them close to Connor’s chest. His face is unbelievably close and his mouth sears a trail of aching pleasure wherever it touches.

Each slide of his cock is deliriously good and Connor worries he’s going to get lost in sensation. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thing, to live in a world of pleasure. When Anderson’s lips lock to his, his tongue investigates Connor’s mouth like he means to move into it.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to hiss “ _Mine_ ” before claiming Connor’s lips once more. Anderson possesses every inch of him, reaching down to stroke at Connor’s leaking cock. His body convulses and Connor knows he won’t last.

Connor whimpers in warning into Anderson’s mouth. He pulls back to smile lasciviously at Connor’s fucked out, overwhelmed expression.

“You’re going to come for me, Connor. I want to see you fall apart around my cock.” Connor’s body convulses at Anderson’s tone as much as his words. Liquid lust races through his veins before coiling into a tight knot at the base of his cock. Light explodes in the corners of his eyes, slowly creeping in until his vision is nothing more than stars.

Anderson’s voice washes over his ears again, gentler than he’s been all evening, “Come for me, Connor.” His orgasm rips through him like a shot, sending him into freefall. The last thing he remembers clearly is Anderson’s hands catching him, and holding him to his chest.

“Sir?” The lights dim as the sharpest edges of his orgasm recede into gentle waves. He’s warm and tangled in limbs. He tries to move but heavy arms hold him—not restrained, but secure. Safe. He relaxes into the hold before realizing Anderson is talking to him.

“Are you ok?” Full consciousness opens his eyelids and dim morning light floods the room. Anderson pulls out of him slowly and Connor sighs, content. It had been real, then. He rolls into Anderson’s chest and he’s wrapped in an embrace once more. He’s shaking lightly from the force of his release.

“Connor, talk to me.” Anderson’s voice is soft and warms him to the core. _He’s worried_ , Connor thinks as he pulls Anderson down by the neck into a gentle kiss.

“That was intense,” Connor mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep, when he finally pulls away.

“Tell me,” Anderson’s voice is still indulgent, but Connor recognizes the command that lurks there. He tells Anderson about him, the other Anderson. About feeling like every touch filled him with white-hot lust. About his feral treatment bordering on cruel.

“Did it upset you?” Connor backpedals quickly, not wanting to close off this avenue. There’s more he wants to try and explore.

He shrugs easily, “Not really. I knew it was a dream. I could let go without feeling ashamed.” It’s not the answer Anderson expected, but he’s still frowning.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of anything we do.” There’s a soft undercurrent of hurt in his words and Connor reaches up to cup Anderson’s face.

“That’s not what I meant.” Anderson arches an eyebrow at him clearly not believing him and Connor smooths his palm over it, “Stop that. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.” He’s teasing on purpose and Anderson relaxes a few degrees at his rapid return to normal.

“Brat,” he grumbles but kisses his forehead all the same. He waits a beat then murmurs, “Explain.”

It’s a difficult thing to navigate. Connor loves the way Anderson makes him feel, revels in being brought to the edge and suspended there before tumbling over it at Anderson’s command. He can explore his darkest desires while feeling safe. But it’s also embarrassing for reasons Connor can’t quite put words to.

“It was like being tipsy,” Connor settles on finally. “My desires weren’t any different. I just lacked the usual inhibitions.”

Anderson seems to accept the explanation before probing, “How did you feel about it overall?”

Connor goes still, thinking. Anderson speaks low while Connor gathers his thoughts, “I know the whole point was you would be sleeping. It was an intriguing experience at first but lonely in the end.”

Connor’s heart pulses fondly. The bed is filthy and they definitely need to shower, but he drags a thigh to mingle with Anderson’s legs. Come smears but he ignores it in favor of being close. Anderson would never admit it, but part of him craved Connor’s neediness.

“So tell me more about this other me,” he says after a few quiet moments pass.

The longer Connor talks, the tighter Anderson’s hold on him becomes. He falters and rises to one elbow when a suspicion takes root, “Are you jealous of _you_?”

Anderson’s silence gives him his answer, “Hank Anderson, you possessive goof.” Anderson glowers at him but Connor collapses on him as if he didn’t notice.

They come to a few conclusions. Anderson’s interested to explore things further, but they agree to rouse the other before reaching their tipping point. Connor lets go of his abstinence campaign given that he lasted three days before mouthing off at Anderson. He waits a couple days more until he secures a part-time wedding coordinator and Anderson’s guard is down to make his move.

Anderson isn’t as heavy a sleeper as he is, but he won’t wake for gentle touch. Connor palms at his cock through his briefs, working Anderson’s length until its throbbing tip peaks out of the waistband. Connor kitten licks at the exposed head and Anderson exhales a heavy sound. Grinning, Connor eases Anderson’s cock out through the opening of his boxers. There was a tricky moment where he was certain Anderson would wake up but he just made an aborted snorting sound instead.

It takes a great deal of restraint on Connor’s end not to greedily swallow him whole. He palms at Anderson’s belly, exploring his body in a way Anderson rarely allowed while awake. Tracing the head with his tongue, Connor sinks down the first few inches keeping his eyes on Anderson’s face. His fingers twitch as if trying to fist into hair and Connor smirks at the gesture.

He bobs for a few minutes, taking more of Anderson’s girth into his mouth with each rise and fall. It isn’t until Anderson’s thighs flex in warning that Connor eases off him. Sliding up Anderson’s torso, he nuzzles at his beard.

Anderson murmurs a tired sound and Connor whispers, “Good morning, sir. I’m going to suck you until you come.”

Anderson mumbles a confused “What?” and Connor knows he’s awake. Shimmying back down, he swallows Anderson as far as he can go without gagging and Anderson’s hand grips his hair tight in surprise.

“Christ,” he groans deeply and Connor can feel it rumble in Anderson’s gut. He sucks in earnest now, hollowing his cheeks. Anderson seems surprised by his orgasm mostly because he’s only just woken up. His grip on Connor’s head is unyielding and hot come paints the back of Connor’s throat. Connor hums, amused and Anderson’s dick falls wetly from between his lips.

Before Anderson can formulate speech, Connor grins deviously, “How did you like your wakeup service?”

Anderson growls a primal sound and yanks Connor into a kiss. Connor melts and molds to Anderson’s chest. When Anderson finally lets him up for air, he rumbles, “Next time, wake me up in time to fuck you in half.” Connor smiles. That shouldn’t be a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


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